snow angels

Reading about Jaska's adventures in the snow (aren't Finns and Swedes smart, they have a ski-holiday at this time of year!), I thought about my walk with my friend Kim, yesterday.

She came up for a visit which I thoroughly enjoyed. We drank tea and ate muffins. We went for a long walk on the route that would take us by the "turkey highway." As we neared home, we came across big drifts of snow that had blown across the laneway. In one spot, it threatened to be impassable. The electrician who had come in and out earlier had commented on it too.

My reaction was an overwhelming temptation to just flop into it, sink into those pillows and curves of snow. No, not overwhelming. I expressed the thought, laughing, Kim agreed, snow angels would be great, but I didn't act on it. Why ever did I resist? I didn't make snow angels. I didn't feel the snow holding my body up on a cushion of cold softness. I didn't struggle to stand up afterward, sinking an arm or foot into deep snow, reaching for firm ground underneath, as I pushed myself upright again. I didn't brush off the snow clinging to my clothing. I didn't see the impression made by my body in the snow, the disturbed tracks made by my hands or feet. The snowdrifts remain, shifting icily as the winds rearrange the snowflakes, into swirls and waves, like icing on a cake, or dunes of sand, undisturbed by anything more interesting than the tiretreads of vehicles which went up or down the drive, by the prints of our boots, and the tracks of the dogs.

When we got back to the house, Kim and I had some more tea and some more muffins , some more gossip and some more conversation and laughter. What is it that is so great, so nourishing to the soul to talk heart to heart with a great friend? To laugh and gossip and commiserate, the way I am privileged to do with Kim, and Mike and...only a few others (you know who you are, you rare jewels!) It's a precious mystery, isn't it? But I'm grateful for the gift of a few really good friends!